


Hope

by dancinghopper



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plotless, absolute fluff really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly bad mission, Peggy arrives at Daniel's apartment seeking reassurance and safety, and finds herself seeking a few other things, too. </p><p>Not Season 2 compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT, JUNE 2016: Have quickly reworked this so that it flows and fits with Part 2 better. (Part 2 is coming, by the way! I had a couple of comments asking for it and I finally gave in and started writing it).
> 
> So since I've been watching Agent Carter and already absolutely adore Peggy and Daniel together, I needed to get my feels out of my system. It's not particularly good & hasn't been beta'd so any mistakes are mine and mine alone! There's a few Steggy feels included in this as well, and any feedback is very highly appreciated as it's proved a bit hard to get inside Peggy's head. Perhaps if there's an asking for it I'll write another chapter where Daniel wakes up to find Peggy next to his bed, as I'm sure that could be entertaining!
> 
> Also I'm totally aware that I really didn't expand on Peggy's mission or her injuries or whatever but I basically just needed a reason for her to be at Daniel's apartment in the middle of the night and I figured a mission gone wrong was appropriate.

The apartment was seeped in a deep black, lit only by the golden light from the outside hall. As silently as she could, she slipped inside, taking care to lock the door behind her. In her mission-addled mind, she still wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to come here, to this place, but she had and now it was too late to back out (or so she told herself). She would have gone back to the house, but she was without her key and really didn’t wish to disturb Angie at two in the morning, or be subjected to a lot of questioning about her current state.

A strange smile worked it’s way onto her face as she looked down at herself. A fine coating of dirt and blood (not her own, thankfully), had turned the green of her suit into an ugly pond-like colour, and turned the fabric into a restricting mud-caked prison. Her hair was knotted together, her nails chipped, and she was relatively certain that she’d never feel clean again. Each and every one of her limbs ached, from her calves to a muscle in her neck, although her lower back was particularly intense, and all she really wanted to do was collapse on the ground and maybe have a drink.

Except she couldn’t, because the paranoia was still jittering in her bones and she desperately needed to feel safe. She took soft steps down the hallway, connecting her red heels against the floor with deliberation and purpose - she wouldn't want to scratch his nice wooden floor, after all. As she crept carefully towards the door farthest from her, one hand resting against the wallpaper, she kept reminding herself that she shouldn’t be there, and really, turn back around now else she was going to be in _deep_ trouble come morning. But she couldn’t help it - she needed reassurance, she needed to feel the safety that lately she’d found she attached to him. The door creaked slightly as she slipped inside the room, shutting the door softly behind her as she leaned against it. Almost at once, the tension drained from her, and her shoulders sagged. She allowed herself to breathe in deeply, tilting her head back against the door as she breathed in the comforting aroma of the room. 

She closed her eyes, standing there for an unidentifiable time, before she finally pushed herself from the wall. She stood still, standing so she could look at him - or rather, so she could look at the still shape on the bed, as his figure was barely identifiable in the dark room. She allowed a rare, genuine smile to grace her lips, enjoying the calmness in the room and the soft sound of his breathing. Eventually she moved, never once taking her eyes from him; slowly, cautiously, until she was standing next to the bed. Taking great care not to upset his crutch, she positioned herself on the floor so that her side was leaning on the bed and her legs were tucked beneath her. _This,_ she thought dazedly, _this is what I was looking for_. His hand was resting near the edge of the bed, and without really thinking about it she placed her own atop it. She tried not to notice how it felt in her own - how perfectly their fingers interlocked, or how she thought it might feel wrapped up in her hair. That was a very dangerous road to go on, and she was determined not to put herself through the pain of losing someone again.

Except… in the darkness of the bedroom, with his hand in hers, she couldn’t help but wonder. With Steve, there had been no chance for ‘what if’s. Everything had been focused on whether they were going to make it out of the war alive, there’d been no time for imagining a future between them. She sucked in a breath, a dull pain coursing through her. On occasion, usually with a bourbon in hand, she’d found herself thinking about what could’ve been. She’d seen a house - moderate, not too large - and small children with tufts of blond hair. She’d seen coughing fits and colds all-year round, and she’d seen herself affectionately ruffling their hair. She’d pictured makeshift shields from garbage can lids, covered in paper and crayons, and she’d seen play-fighting in gardens. She’d tried to imagine Steve’s exact expression when that happened, when the little boy (or girl), proudly proclaimed themselves as the new Captain America. His eyes would have lit up, crinkling a bit at the corners, and an easy smile would have spread over his face, the bark of his laugh filling the air. But when the drink was gone, the ideas would go with it, and the tales of loves lost would be silenced.

She had vowed never to let herself become so attached again if she could help it, yet already she had formed those connections. Angie - christ, _Angie_. A friendship could be even more dangerous to lose than a love, but if the way she was stroking his hand was any indication, now she had the chance to lose both. Her mind had begun to drift, as she thought of children with dark curls and bright eyes, those that conveyed their emotions like hers never had. She saw baking in the kitchen, as two grabby hands mushed together the pastry in an attempt to help him, but really just made it harder. A soft grin worked its way onto her face as she tried to imagine it. She pictured sitting on a porch, a book in one hand and tea in the other, curled up against the very man who’s bed she sat beside. Her heart swelled, and she allowed herself to hope. To hope that the offer of a drink could lead to something much bigger, that the shy smiles they shared might turn into confident beams. Still smiling jovially in the dim light of the room, she gently placed her head on the bed.

“Goodnight, Daniel.”


End file.
